What do you do when your best friend of nearly two decades receives a breast-cancer diagnosis? Bergdorf Goodman social-media manager Cannon Hodge cut her bum-grazing, fairy-tale-princess hair into a below-the-chin crop, in hopes of contributing to a wig for her friend Caroline Brown. Growing up in Fort Worth, Texas, the two were inseparable, and they fulfilled their childhood pact to go to college and move to a major city. Both built fashion careers in New York City, although Brown has since relocated to Houston. Before Brown's diagnosis, they even wore their hair the same way. "We have the same color and texture," Hodge says. "She's a long-haired Texas girl; I'm a long-haired Texas girl." For Hodge, shearing off the extra length to make a wig for Brown was an obvious choice. But she soon learned that a full hairpiece requires up to 20 pony-tail donations—each at least eight inches long—far more than her cut alone would generate. "It's not as easy as just snipping off your hair and turning it into a wig," Hodge says. Still, every little bit does help.

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For those looking to grow and give—or just grow and grow—hair guru John Barrett, who executed Hodge's new do, recommends avoiding harsh chemical treatments, including coloring. Future donors should also reduce heat styling and consider replacing elastics with softer hair ties. "Also, keep in mind that it takes about 10 months of regrowth before you'll be able to donate again," Barrett says.

When I ask Hodge the secret to her almost supernatural length, hoping for a list of miracle supplements and obscure foreign products, she echoes the vague indifference of a runway rookie without a beauty contract. "Argan oil?" Hodge isn't apathetic toward the catalyst behind her dramatic chop, however. "Cutting my hair has nothing to do with me and everything to do with raising awareness of one relatively easy thing we can do to support others," she says. Weeks after the cut, I meet Brown, who's in town on a business trip, and Hodge at Manhattan restaurant the Lambs Club. Brown sits at the head of the table, surrounded by friends, some of whom also plan to cut their long hair in a gesture of solidarity. Her glossy light-brown wig conceals a close shave that took place nearly one month into chemotherapy, shortly after her thirtieth birthday. "Losing my hair was one of the hardest parts," Brown tells me, nursing a glass of white wine. "But my hair doesn't define who I am as a person."

Hodge's new bob is scraped back into a sporty ponytail. "The biggest adjustment was changing products to suit shorter hair," she says. But despite Hodge's nonchalance, her crop feels decidedly modern—and meaningful. "Those who know Cannon also know her long hair," Brown says. "The fact that she didn't think twice about chopping it off was the most humbling thing."